Page 22 of The Rivaled Crown (The Veiled Kingdom #3)

CHAPTER 22

DACRE

I had been making my way toward the training grounds when I felt it.

The mark on my wrist burned, a low, insistent hum, pulling at something deep inside me.

Verena.

I didn’t know how to explain it, but it felt like something was wrong, like she was calling me forward through our bond.

I had never felt anything like it before, and when my mark had burned, when it had seared my skin, I could hardly catch my breath.

Wren and I had been scouting the perimeter of the hidden city when I felt it. Carefully watching the forest edge for any sign of Verena’s father or his guards, but there had been none. I hadn’t scouted once since we had arrived back in the hidden city, had relied on my father’s intel alone, but when I had found her note this morning, when I slipped past the training grounds and saw her with Kai, I needed to see for myself.

I needed to calm the nightmares that I was creating in my mind that he was coming for her.

But then our soul-bond slammed into me, almost knocking me on my ass, and the mark on my wrist, it hadn’t quit burning since.

I got back underground as quickly as I could, and I cursed as I had to push through people in the streets. I moved faster, my boots striking the stone with sharp, echoing steps. The closer I got, the stronger the feeling became. Not just the pulse of the bond, but something else. Something colder.

Voices drifted toward me from a narrow side street. Low, weighted, familiar. The feeling in my mark became stronger as I slowed.

Then I heard his voice.

My father.

I moved closer, keeping myself hidden in the shadows, my breathing steady despite the storm rising inside me.

“Prophecies are the desperate prayers of those who don’t have the strength to carve out their own future.”

My body went still. The words were laced with derision, dismissive in a way that made my blood run hot, but before I could even process them, another voice cut through the space between us.

Hers.

“Those prayers, are they the same ones your wife uttered when she wanted a better future for your people, for her children?”

I couldn’t move. She was in there. She was with him, and she was talking about my mother.

“Your wife, a daughter of Veyrith, just like me. A woman of the same kingdom as my own mother. A woman who fought against the same king as my own mother. That doesn’t feel like some silly story to me. That feels like fate.”

I could feel her so powerfully in our bond in that moment, feel her anger and the way her magic wanted to escape. The way it made mine thrum to life in a way unlike I had ever felt before.

“Your mother did nothing to fight the king. She did nothing to stop the war.”

My father paused, and I moved closer, looking into the room. There were other men in the room, other members of the rebellion, but none of them spoke. They were all looking at her.

“You speak of fate, but both of those mothers are dead. Both of them died at the hands of your father.”

My father’s words knocked the breath from my lungs, or maybe that was her. I couldn’t tell the difference, couldn’t tell which one of us was reacting, which one suddenly couldn’t breathe.

“And your hands are clean? My father will die for what he’s done.”

Her words dripped from her lips like poison, and I realized that I had never heard her say them before. The king was her father, and I wanted to destroy him for what he had done. But there had always been fear in her voice when I heard her speak of him before, but I heard no fear now. I felt nothing but her rage.

“And what price will you pay?”

My father didn’t answer immediately. The shocked silence stretched between them, and I wasn’t willing to wait for his response.

I stepped forward, and the moment my boots hit the stone, she felt me.

Her back straightened, her fingers flexing just slightly where they rested on the table.

She didn’t turn, didn’t acknowledge me, but she knew. I could feel it in our bond that she knew.

And my father knew it too.

His sharp gaze flicked toward me, his jaw tightening at my presence. I moved with slow, deliberate steps, my eyes never leaving his as I crossed the room. The tension in the space thickened, the men around the table watching us like cornered prey.

I reached Verena’s chair, curling my fingers around the back of it, letting them feel the weight of that small, possessive gesture. Letting them see it.

I leaned down and brushed my lips against her shoulder, and a shudder passed through her, so slight I almost couldn’t feel it.

But she still didn’t turn to look at me. She didn’t need to.

She was still looking at my father, and so was I. I stood behind her, and I didn’t speak.

I let the silence stretch, let my father feel the weight of my presence behind her, let him understand that this was not a fight he was going to win.

Verena tilted her head slightly, her fingers pressing against the table, as if she, too, was waiting, waiting to see if my father had anything left to say.

She had been challenging him.

She was the one holding his gaze.

Gods, she was magnificent.

Finally, I moved, slow and controlled, and I reached forward for her hand. She laced her fingers in mine with no hesitation, and I traced my fingers over the fabric of her sleeve, where I knew the golden mark of our soul-bond still burned beneath her skin.

“Please,” I drawled, looking directly at my father. “Don’t stop on my account.”

My father’s expression barely changed, but I saw it, the way his jaw ticked.

He was seething.

The other men shifted uneasily in their seats, their gazes flickering between my father and me, as if waiting for one of us to speak.

“No?” I laughed, but there wasn’t an ounce of humor. “So there was a reason I wasn’t invited to this meeting.”

My father leaned back in his chair, his weathered eyes fixed on me. “There are conversations that no longer require your presence, son.”

The name brushed against me, but I let it slide away, let it mean nothing.

I wasn’t the little boy who still feared his father.

“But they require hers?” I asked, dipping my chin toward Verena.

Something sharp flickered in his gaze, but he masked it quickly. “She came of her own accord.”

Verena looked up and my stomach tightened as her lip formed into a smile. “It’s true.” She nodded and her eyes finally met mine. “I rudely interrupted them after overhearing them discuss my future.”

“We were discussing the future of the rebellion.” My father tapped his fingers once against the table, his control barely leashed, before his gaze flicked toward Verena.

“And? What was it you decided again?” A tense silence settled at her question.

The fucking cowards.

“Ah, right,” she continued as if they all weren’t holding their breath. “There was a bit of back and forth over whether your people would ever accept me.” She glanced up at me again before quickly looking back to my father. “But ultimately it was decided that your father here would just take that choice away from them.”

I exhaled slowly, a long, deliberate breath, as I traced my free hand along the rough wood on the back of her chair, each carved edge distinct beneath my palm.

The sensation grounded me slightly, cut into my mind as I tried to maintain a sliver of composure in the face of what she had just said.

But as I looked at my father, I knew that it was no use.

“You should get together with my father,” Verena said casually as her hand tightened against mine. “He has a lot of experience in not allowing his people to have a voice. He could give you some pointers.”

My father’s face contorted in rage, his brow furrowed, jaw clenched, and eyes narrowing into fiery slits. His carefully crafted facade of calm control shattered, revealing the true emotion boiling underneath.

“You believe you are the future of this kingdom?” he spat, looking at her as if she weren’t worthy of even sitting in front of him.

She didn’t hesitate. It was as if she hadn’t even noticed his anger. “I know I am.”

I let my fingers tighten against the back of her chair.

My father exhaled through his nose. “Because of some prophecy?”

Verena tilted her head slightly, and she looked so powerful in that moment. So regal.

“Because it’s her fate,” I answered before she could. “You can fight it all you like, but Verena will be the next Queen of Marmoris.”

One of the men spat out a curse, but I didn’t stop.

“She is the heir to our kingdom. She is the heir to Veyrith, and fate has chosen her.”

My father scoffed. “Fate.” The word was laced with disdain, falling from his mouth like it was something foul. “I do not kneel for fate, nor for a girl who barely understands the power she wields.” His eyes narrowed on Verena, and I stiffened. “You think I fear you? That I fear what you might become?” His gaze flicked to me. “I only fear that my son is too blind to see what stands before him. A curse, not a queen.”

Magic snapped inside me. The bond roared to life, my mark burning, a silent response to the insult he had dared to utter.

“No one in this rebellion will follow you, none of them will bow.”

Verena only smiled. A slow, lethal thing before her hand slipped out of mine, and she leaned forward until she was only inches away from my father. “Your son already bows for me.”

A sharp inhale cut through the room. Someone cursed under their breath.

Fuck. She is going to drive them mad.

“We will never have her as our queen.” He looked up at me, ignoring her completely. “No matter what happens, no matter what she gives. I’d rather have her head on a pike than wearing the crown.”

The words rang through the room like a war cry, a declaration that could not be undone, and I snapped. I moved around Verena’s chair, shielding her as I advanced on my father. His chair scraped loudly against the floor as he tried to retreat, but his efforts were futile.

My hand shot forward, seizing his shirt in a firm grasp. I pulled him toward me with a force that left our faces separated by only a breath.

Then the words tumbled from my lips, the ones imbued with the potential to alter the course of everything. Like a stone cast into a still pond, they rippled outward, carrying with them the weight of what we had done.

“You are my father, but if you dare speak of my wife like that again, I will slit your throat and paint this city in your blood.”

The silence that followed was so intense it seemed to press against my ears until they threatened to rupture.

I lifted my other hand and jerked up my sleeve, allowing the mark that glowed against my skin to be right in my father’s view.

“I don’t want you to so much as look at my mate,” I growled as the mark glowed brighter, our magic between us raging to lash out at him.

My father’s fury was no longer hidden. He seethed as he stared up at my mark. “You think tying yourself to her will change anything?” he hissed. “You think it will make her fit to rule?”

I let out a laugh that was low and mocking. “It changes everything.”

Verena moved then, standing from her seat and sliding into my view with all the grace of a queen.

And gods, she looked the part.

I turned back to my father, watching as his rage flickered just beneath the surface, barely contained, barely leashed. Good. Let him feel it. Let him choke on it.

“This rebellion was built on the idea that we carve our own futures,” I said, my voice ringing through the cavern. “That we are not ruled by the whims of tyrants who take what they want and discard the rest.” I let my gaze sweep over the men at the table, then landed back on my father. And then, I twisted the knife deeper.

“But here you sit, deciding Verena’s fate like she has no say in it. As if she isn’t standing right in front of you, fighting harder than any of you ever have.”

A few of the men looked away, shame flickering across their expressions. But not my father.

“She is dangerous,” he spat. “And you are blind.”

“I see clearer now than I ever have.” My voice dropped, and I lifted my wrist higher, letting the golden mark shine in the torchlight.

“The tides have already turned,” I said. “The storm you feared is already here.”

My father’s face twisted, and the men around the table refused to meet my gaze.

“She is my fate, my future,” I said quietly, my words sharp as a blade. “And I serve only her.”

I turned slightly, lifting my chin, letting the weight of my words press into the room. Then I stood to my full height and reached for Verena. She fell into me easily, her hand wrapping around mine, as we turned our backs to all of them and began walking out of the room.

But then I slowed, and I looked back over my shoulder. I had once respected every man in this room, and I had followed their commands as if they were gods.

But no gods stared back at me now.

“Your future queen is leaving,” I said firmly, and I felt Verena stiffen beside me. I felt her magic take in my words and slither back as if it, too, were waiting to see what I would do. “Kneel.”

A beat of silence before my father’s laugh rang out. His hands curled into fists, his knuckles stark white against his skin.

But one by one, the others stood.

They all hesitated, their gazes flicking between Verena and my father, before the first finally dropped to his knee.

Verena tugged at my hand, but I didn’t look away from them.

Another knelt to the ground.

And another.

Verena inhaled sharply beside me, but she did not speak as the last man finally dropped to his knee.

Every man except one.

I looked down at my father. Still sitting. Still furious. His body was stiff, his shoulders locked in rigid defiance. He would never bow to her. I knew it without ever having to hear him say it.

“Careful.” The word poured from his lips. “You’re in my hidden city, in my rebellion.” The fury that filled his gaze could have burned through stone, but I didn’t care.

I turned away from him, and I lifted Verena’s hand to my mouth. I pressed a kiss to her knuckles, slowly, reverently.

Then I looked back at my father one last time before I led her from the room.